twenty years have gone by & I'm not living yet
not comfortable in the climate of my home
I always seem to be pulling on sweaters
turning up heaters piling on blankets
when everyone else seems fine.
thirteen years have gone by & I'm just starting
to remember
just starting to sit down shut up listen
to the things, people happening in, around me
really hear; really appreciate,
let myself be moved honestly
when everyone else seems hurried, unaffected.
seven years have gone by since I
stopped being like other kids my age
started walking with bricks in my bookbag
scars on my thigh & the constant threat of pins-&-needles headaches
endless lists & workweeks
never getting everything done
everyone else seems lighter, walking in other gravity realms.
not done yet but I'm still thinking of where I want to go next
